Rescuing a Dog-Robber
by Susan M. M
Summary: Ezra Standish left the town of Four Corners on Hutchins' Moon under a cloud of shame. The last thing he expected was becoming an involuntary crewman on Malcolm Reynolds' Serenity. If this is being "rescued", he might be safer with the Reavers!
1. Rescuing a Dog-Robber

**Standard Fanfic Disclaimer **that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: these aren't my characters, and only some of the settings are mine. Based on characters and settings from the _Firefly _and _Magnificent Seven _television shows, and ignoring the _Serenity _movie, as I started this years before the movie came out. Originally published in the fanzine Magnificent AUs #2 from Neon RainBow Press. Written purely for my own amusement: I wanted to crunch Ezra, and Mal was kind enough to help me.

**Rescuing a Dog-Robber**

_Firefly/Magnificent Seven _(AU)

by Susan M. M.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Rescuing a Dog-Robber**

Zoe Washburne slid into the booth next to Mal Reynolds. Two beers sat in front of him; he passed one over to her. "Get all the supplies?"

Zoe, a tall, muscular, dark-skinned woman nodded. "You'll never guess who I just saw."

"Oh?"

"There's a Block up the road." _Serenity_'s XO pointed out the window.

Mal nodded. He'd walked past the labor broker's, usually referred to as a Block (since most people found little to distinguish between an auction block and a brokerage firm that sold indenture contracts).

"You remember Lt. Standish, the colonel's dog-robber?" Mal nodded, and she continued, "He was there."

"Customer or client?"

"Client, and apparently a major flight risk. They've got him shackled to a fare-thee-well."

## ## ## ##

Ezra Standish was a dark-haired man of medium height. Most would describe him as a handsome man … usually. The gambler's green eyes were glum and devoid of hope, lacking their usual roguish twinkle. His face was bruised and somewhat dirty. Not even his mother would describe him as handsome at the moment. He half-leaned, half-sat against the wall. The chains didn't let him move more than a few decimeters. He was collared like a dog. His wrists were manacled, with a chain separating them by perhaps 15 centimeters. His ankles were similarly bound. Both his collar and his wrist-manacles were further chained to the wall.

A brown-haired man about his height, perhaps a few centimeters taller, approached his position. After glancing to see that no one else was in earshot, he asked, "Are you running a scam, or do you need rescuing?"

Standish's lips barely moved. His reply was the faintest of whispers, inaudible a meter away, but the desperation came through loud and clear. "Get me out of here."

Mal bobbed his head once, then walked away.

Ten minutes later, a brokerage employee unchained Standish. "C'mon. You've been sold."

## ## ## ##

"Well, honey, what do you think?" Mal asked Zoe.

"He's strong enough to put in a full day's work," the labor broker said. "I think you and your wife will be satisfied.

"Keep up appearances until we're away from prying eyes and ears," Mal whispered. Aloud, he added, "Mind your manners, follow orders, and the missus and I will treat you right."

"Yes, sir," Standish muttered.

Zoe shoved the supplies into Standish's hands. "Make yourself useful. Carry these."

Standish scrambled for a good grip on the packages. It wasn't easy with his arms chained together. "Yes, ma'am."

Mal turned and shook hands with the labor broker. "Pleasure doing business with you, sir." He laid a hand on Standish's shoulder and pushed him toward the door.

Once they were outside, Standish opened his mouth to speak.

"Quiet," Zoe ordered. "Keep your mouth shut until we're back at the ship." She and Mal marched him through the dusty unpaved streets to the landing field on the edge of town.

## ## ## ##

"Let's get those groceries put away in the galley, and some put away in you," Mal said.

"Sgt. Reynolds, I have never been so happy to see anyone in my life."

"Let's get one thing straight. This is my ship, and on board _Serenity _you call me 'Captain Reynolds' or 'sir.' You got that?"

"Yes, sir," Standish replied mockingly.

Mal led them to the galley.

"I'll take that." Zoe relieved Standish of the groceries and started putting them away.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you, Corporal Allvers? Alden?" He tried to remember her last name, but failed. The face was familiar –- a man didn't forget a woman who looked like that –- but after seven years he'd forgotten her name.

"Used to be Alleyne, Washburne now," she corrected him. "And I'm not a corporal anymore."

"She is my XO, and you'll treat her with respect." Mal fished a key out of his pocket and removed the chains from Standish's manacles. The manacles themselves he left on Standish's wrists. Nor did he make any move to remove the collar.

"Um, aren't you forgetting something?" Standish asked.

Mal stared him down.

Hoban Washburne, _Serenity_'s pilot, entered the galley and kissed his wife. "Who's this?"

"Ezra Standish. He'll be with us for a while," Mal replied.

"How long a while?" Standish demanded.

"Until you pay me what you owe me. You can either reimburse me what I paid for the indenture, or you can work it off."

"Obviously you've never been arrested hereabouts, Reynolds. Instead of charging a fine or throwing you into a nice escapable jail cell, they confiscate your belongings and sell you at auction. My pockets are empty at the moment."

"Captain Reynolds," Zoe corrected him. "Or sir."

"You don't have the money on you. That don't mean you can't get it," Mal pointed out.

Standish thought a moment. He'd never hear the end of it if he contacted Maude and asked her for a loan. He doubted he'd be able to borrow the money from Chris Larabee, or another of his former associates. They hadn't parted on the best of terms. "It might take a while to contact someone and get a response."

"I'm in no hurry. The more you work off, the less you'll have to pay," Mal replied amiably. "What do you think, Zoe, pay him the same wages as Jayne?"

"Same, or a little more." She considered the matter. "Hate to admit it, but he's more valuable than Jayne. Less than Wash makes, though."

"Nice to know I'm more valuable," the strawberry blond pilot said. "Still doesn't answer my question. Who is this guy, and why is he wearing metal jewelry?"

"Lt. Standish was the supply officer for our unit," his coffee-skinned bride explained.

"Also the colonel's dog-robber, and he had a tendency to put Col. Oberin's wants before the soldiers' needs," Mal added.

Standish held up his wrists. "When were you planning to remove these, Reynolds?"

"You forgetting something, Standish?" The dark-haired captain's tone wasn't quite as amiable as it had been a moment ago.

"You're not kidding about the captain or sir business, are you?" the gambler realized.

Mal shook his head.

"Captain." Standish pronounced the two syllables grudgingly.

Mal nodded his acceptance of the title. "Cuffs come off once we grab some sky. The labor broker warned me you were likely to try to escape. Once we're in space, I won't need to worry about that. Leastwise, not as much."

"You could've just waited till night, and broken me out," Standish pointed out.

"This was quicker. Make yourself useful, and you'll earn your way out quicker."

Standish said nothing.

"You still got a talent for pulling scams?" Mal asked.

Standish nodded cautiously.

"We ain't always on the right side of the law. If we can make use of your talents, there'll be a bonus in it for you."

"Would I see any of this bonus?" the gambler asked pointedly.

"Be on the books, accounted against your debt," Mal explained. "Now, you want some spending money for shore leave now and then, we could manage that … but it would slow down how soon you paid me back."

Standish nodded his understanding and acceptance. He warned, "I haven't saluted anyone since the war ended."

"Don't need salutes. Just need you to remember who's in charge."

"I don't think that will be a problem. You've made that very clear, Captain."

"Get yourself something to eat," Mal ordered. "Can't get any work done on an empty stomach."

"Yes, sir, Captain, sir," he replied sarcastically.

"Watch the attitude, or I'll dock your pay," Mal warned. Not trusting his self-control, Ezra said nothing. Mal continued, "Everybody gets their own breakfast and lunch. We take turns making dinner. Your turn is tonight."

"I thought tonight was your turn," Wash said.

Mal grinned. "It was."

## ## ## ##

"I seem to remember you used to consider yourself quite a ladies' man," Mal said as he escorted his bondservant down the ship's corridor.

"I have always enjoyed the company of the fairer sex," Standish admitted. A handsome man with dark hair, green eyes, and a roguish charm, he'd never had any trouble attracting attention from women.

"We got four females on board. As far as you're concerned, they're all off limits," Mal warned.

Standish frowned.

"Inara, she's a Registered Companion; she rents one of the shuttles from me. Part of the rental agreement is that she's not professionally available to any crew members. Unless you get ordered to clean her shuttle, you stay out of it. That's her quarters and her office." When Standish nodded his understanding, Mal continued, "You know Zoe. She's married and her husband is likely to object. Not to mention she could kill or maim you herself, if she chose. Then there's Kaylee and River. They're both too young and River, she ain't right in the head. 'Sides, she's the doctor's sister. Ain't a good idea to upset the man who's gonna patch you up if you get hurt." He opened a door. "You can bunk here. Ain't fancy, but it'll do."

_It'll do for a bondservant, you mean,_ Standish thought. The cubicle -– it was too small to call a cabin -– was bare. Nothing in it but a bunk, not even any blankets.

"Sit down." Mal gestured at the bunk. He pulled the key out of his pocket. "Hold still." Standish sat very still as Mal Reynolds unlocked first his collar, then his wrist manacles. Mal relocked them around a pipe running through the room. "Keep this handy, just in case we need 'em later."

Standish glanced up at the manacles, dangling there above his bed, to remind him of his status … not that Mal seemed likely to let him forget.

## ## ## ##

Mal introduced the gambler to the rest of the crew at dinner. "This is Ezra Standish; he was in the war with Zoe and me. He owes me money, so he's gonna be on board a while, working it off."

He introduced the others, and Standish was grateful to Mal for not mentioning his status as a bondservant, although Wash and Zoe already knew, and the others would doubtless find out soon. It would be hard to keep secrets on a small ship.

"Inara Serra," Mal indicated a beautiful, well-dressed woman. The Companion, Standish remembered, thinking it was a shame she was off-limits.

"Shepherd Derrial Book." An older brown-skinned man, dressed in clerical gray and black, nodded. He murmured some words of welcome.

"Our doctor, Simon, and his sister, River." The doctor appeared to be a few years Standish's junior; his sister, who might have been a pretty brunette had her hair been combed, was still a teenager.

"Jayne Cobb." Standish took one look at the tall man, and realized that although he probably had some title like security or stevedore, that he was the ship's muscle. He certainly looked tough enough that no one would tease him about a feminine-sounding name.

"And Kaylee Frye, our mechanic." She was River's age, perhaps a year or two older, and quite pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way.

"Wash and Zoe you've already met, of course." The strawberry blond pilot nodded politely. His raven-haired wife eyed Standish the way she would a particularly disgusting bug.

Kaylee dug into the stew. "I never knew you could make protein cubes and a few canned vegetables taste this good."

Standish nodded his acceptance of the compliment.

" 'Member when I first bought _Serenity_?" Mal asked Zoe. "I told you we needed to get a mechanic and a pilot, maybe a cook. Looks like we just found our cook." The captain looked at Standish. "Doubt kitchen chores'll be enough to keep you busy and out of mischief. We'll add janitorial duties to your to-do list. That'll free up the rest of the crew for more important work."

Green eyes, filled with hate, glared at Mal for a moment. Discretion being the better part of valor, Standish turned his attention to his bowl of stew. The law gave bondholders considerable leeway in the matter of disciplining their bondservants, and was annoyingly silent on the matter of bondservants' civil rights.

## ## ## ##

Ezra Standish wiped the perspiration from his brow. He was hot, tired, sweaty, and his muscles ached. His mother had told him that a gentleman never debased himself with physical labor. This was not only debasing and demeaning, it was exhausting.

"That cargo ain't gonna load itself. Get back to work," Mal ordered.

"In just a moment. I need to catch my breath."

"Now."

Standish glared up at the captain, trying – very hard – to avoid the snappy retort he wanted to make.

Mal must have seen the look in his eyes, for he said, "Don't you give me no lip. You already forfeited a day's pay yesterday for your attitude. Wanna lose another day's pay?"

"No, sir. I would rather not," Standish conceded.

"Get that cargo loaded."

"Yes, sir." With Mal's eyes on him, he had no choice but to proceed down the ramp and fetch another of the waiting boxes.


	2. Lady Aberlin

**Chapter 2: Lady Aberlin**

"Standish, look sharp," Mal called out. He passed the ball to the cook.

Standish caught the ball. He ran forward. Zoe moved to block him. He dodged nimbly, leapt, and tossed the ball through the makeshift hoop.

"Yea!" Kaylee applauded. She exchanged high-fives with her team mate River. "We're ahead."

"We're just letting you have a point or two so you get overconfident," Zoe retorted. "Then we're gonna wipe the floor with you."

"Talk is cheap." Mal tossed the ball into the air. From Mal's team, Simon reached for it, and failed. From Zoe's team, both Inara and Jayne went for the ball. Jayne's hand missed the ball.

"Try that again," Inara threatened, standing stock still, the ball in her hand, "and I'll geld you."

"What?" Jayne tried to look innocent, and failed. "I was just trying to protect my team mate, keep the other side from grabbing the ball."

"The ball isn't what you were grabbing." For once, the Companion had forgone her jewelry and fancy gowns. She was clad in harem pants and an old shirt; her face glistened with perspiration rather than cosmetics.

"Jayne." Mal's voice was quiet. His tone betrayed no emotion.

"Huh?"

"You try that again, and I'll hold you down while she turns you into a eunuch. Simon, River, get the ball."

The Tams took advantage of Inara's momentary distraction to knock the ball from her hand. River passed it to Kaylee, who tossed it to Standish, who scored another basket.

"Okay, people," Zoe growled, "floor wiping time. And you, keep your hands on the ball," she told Jayne.

The game had barely gotten re-started when a beeping sound came from the bridge.

"Back in a minute," Wash excused himself, hurrying to the bridge.

"Teams ain't even now." Jayne had a gift for pointing out the obvious. "Your team needs someone to sit out."

"Fair's fair," Book agreed.

Mal looked over his players. "River, take a break."

Jayne protested: "That ain't right. Can't trade an able-bodied man for a crazy girl. Oughta be you or Simon or Standish."

"Fine. Standish, sit down." Mal smiled at River and winked at her.

She smiled back mischievously.

Book took the ball and tossed it into the air.

River Tam had been taking dance lessons since she was three. Now she applied those lessons, flying across the cargo bay. She spun, she whirled, she dodged. And the ball spun and whirled and dodged with her. She passed the ball to Kaylee, who feinted as though she were about to give the ball to Mal, then tossed it to Simon. As River danced away from Book and Inara, Simon passed the ball back to her. River launched the ball into the hoop from the far end of the cargo bay. It was an impossible shot.

She scored.

"Atta girl," Kaylee cheered.

Wash's voice came over the loudspeaker. "Cap, we're picking up a distress signal."

"Time-out," Mal ordered. "On my way, Wash." He hurried to the bridge. "What's up?"

"SOS from the _Lady Aberlin. _A yacht."

"Legit?" Mal asked. Fake distress calls were a favorite pirate trick.

"Seems to be," Wash replied cautiously.

Mal nodded, and Wash reopened communications. "This is Captain Malcolm Reynolds of the _Serenity._ What seems to be the problem?"

"The captain got hurt. I can't fly the ship; we're going to …" the panicked voice tried to pull itself under control. "We're drifting. I – I don't know how to fly the ship."

Mal and Wash exchanged glances. Rich folks who bought or rented a yacht might well have considered flying it something for the hired help to worry about, not something they needed to do themselves.

"How badly is your captain hurt?"

"I'm not sure. He hasn't regained consciousness."

Mal signaled Wash to cut the sound on their broadcast. "What do you think? They telling the truth?"

Wash nodded. "I think it's shiny."

"Get 'em back on the horn."

"We got a doctor on board. We'll be there in about an hour."

* * *

"Shepherd, you take River, keep her safe," Mal ordered. "Simon, get your medical kit. Be ready." He looked over his crew. He wanted Wash to come with to check out the yacht's controls. But he also wanted back-up, in case it was a trap. Jayne just wasn't the yacht type. He didn't trust Standish yet. But if he took Zoe and Wash, then that left Jayne in charge. And he didn't trust Jayne much more than he did Standish. "Standish, come with me."

Standish followed Mal down the ship's corridors to his cubicle. "In."

Standish stared at the captain for a moment in disbelief. "You're locking me in my room?"

"In," Mal repeated.

A dozen smart-mouthed replies leapt to Standish's mind. Any one of them would likely have earned either a slap or forfeiting a day's pay, so he resisted the urge. "Captain," he acknowledged bitterly, as he stepped in.

Mal shut the door and locked it behind him. "Don't worry. I'll let you out in plenty of time to make dinner."

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, _Serenity_ locked with _Lady Aberlin._ Zoe and Mal stood at the hatch, guns ready. Simon was behind them, his medical bag in his hand.

"Thank Heaven you're here! I'm Keith Fleming-Chang. I thought we were lost for sure." A middle-aged man nearly attacked them in his gratitude, shaking hands with all three of them.

"I'm the doctor. Where's my patient?" asked Simon.

"This way, this way," Fleming-Chang said.

"Zoe, check out their bridge," Mal ordered. He followed Simon and Fleming-Chang.

Captain Pierre Andre lay on his bunk, unconscious.

"He was doing something to the engine, when all of a sudden there were sparks. He just collapsed. My son tried to give him first aid, but … Will he be all right?" asked Fleming-Chang.

"Sounds like an electric shock induced a cardiac attack. I think I can help him," Simon replied. He put his stethoscope to the captain's chest.

"Doing something to the engine?" Mal repeated. He pulled his communicator out of his pocket. "Wash, need you to send Kaylee over. My mechanic," he added in an aside to Fleming-Chang. "Anyone else hurt, or any other damage to the ship?"

"We're all fine. The ship … I don't know. I should have listened to my wife. She wanted to take a standard transport to Hiawatha, but I insisted on hiring a yacht, make it a mini-vacation for the kids."

"I'm gonna go help Zoe check out the bridge. My mechanic will be here in a minute to take a look at your engine. Why don't you give the doctor room to work," Mal suggested, "and tell your family everything is under control now."

* * *

Half an hour later, Mal met with Zoe, Wash, Kaylee, and Simon in _Lady Aberlin's _bridge. "Well, what's the situation?"

"Some minor damage to the engine. Nothing I can't fix in an hour or two," Kaylee reported.

"And their captain?"

"He should be in a hospital," Simon replied. "I can keep him alive, but it would be best if he stayed in _Serenity_'s infirmary until we make planetfall. This ship has no medical facilities, only one badly stocked first aid kit."

Mal turned to Wash. "Can she fly, this yacht?"

"No problem. The controls are easy. You could fly this boat."

Mal scowled. He knew he wasn't half the pilot Wash was, but he hated being reminded of it. "Anybody as rich as this Fleming-Chang, ought to be a way we can play good Samaritan and make a profit at the same time. If we stop at Hiawatha, how far behind will that put us?"

"A day, maybe a day and a half," Wash replied. "I could fly this boat to Hiawatha, while _Serenity_ shadows us. We land at Hiawatha, get Andre to a hospital, and then we're back on our way to Epona. It's not like our cargo's gonna melt or go stale from a day's delay."

Mal nodded. He preferred carrying non-perishables. That time they'd taken cattle from Persephone to Ariel it'd taken forever to clean out the cargo bay afterwards. "And who flies _Serenity_ while you're aboard _Lady Aberlin_?"

"I'll set the course; auto-pilot should handle everything. When we reach Hiawatha, send Inara down in her shuttle, and she can take me back to _Serenity."_

"Take us back to _Serenity,_" his wife corrected him. "I'm coming with you." Zoe looked at Mal, daring him to contradict her.

Mal raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. He was well aware of the strains on their marriage, and he didn't want to lose either his XO or his pilot. "Looks like we got ourselves a plan. I'll go tell our client."

It only took him a few minutes to find Fleming-Chang.

"My crew and me, we got a plan, if you agree to it," Mal told him.

The rich man looked up at him, silently inviting him to continue.

"My mechanic's working on your engines. She estimates she'll have everything good-to-go in two hours, maybe three. However, the doctor's very concerned about your Captain Andre. He needs a hospital planetside, and the sooner the better."

"I was afraid of that."

"Here's what we're gonna do. The doctor will move Andre to my ship; he says he can take better care of him in our infirmary. My pilot and his wife will stay on board your ship, and they'll fly you to Hiawatha. We'll fly alongside you. When we touch dirt, Andre transfers to a proper hospital, and Wash and Zoe rejoin my crew."

"Oh, thank Heaven." Fleming-Chang looked as though he'd been afraid that Mal would leave them stranded, far from any civilized planet.

"Just one other thing…."

"Yes?"

"Don't mind helping you – don't want you to think for a minute I object to helping you out. It's just…." Mal looked down at the floor. He scuffed his shoes, doing his best country bumpkin impression. "We're a tramp freighter. Got cargo to deliver, a schedule to keep. Don't begrudge the side trip. You needed help, no two ways about it. Just this is gonna make us late, and run us short on fuel. If you could see your way to reimbursing you part of the fuel costs –"

"Of course, man, of course. But your whole fuel costs, not just part. And if," Fleming-Chang paused, "if it wouldn't insult you, I'd like to give you a reward."

"I wouldn't dream of hurting your feelings by refusing your gift," Mal told him honestly.

"How does five hundred credits sound?" Fleming-Chang asked.

"Sounds fine." Mal had been about to ask for two hundred credits; he'd hoped to get one hundred. Maybe, he thought, he'd agreed too quickly. "I'll make sure the doctor gets his fair share."

"That's not necessary. Divide the five hundred amongst your crew as you see fit, but I'll see to the doctor's fee."

"That's  
right generous of you, Mr. Fleming-Chang." Mal decided he was glad he hadn't tried to bargain the reward up. In the long run, having a rich friend might be better than a one-time large fee.

* * *

Forty-two hours later, _Lady Aberlin _and Inara's shuttle set down on Hiawatha. Forty-two hours and fifteen minutes later, an ambulance took Pierre Andre to Beth-Israel Hospital. Forty-eight hours later, after Inara had entertained a local business magnate and Zoe and Wash had had a brief bit of shore leave, they returned to _Serenity_, just in time for Standish to serve dinner_._

"Welcome home," Standish told them, as the three sat down at the dinner table.

"Good to be back," Zoe said.

Wash said nothing at first. He would have been quite happy to extend their shore leave by a day or two. Instead, he dug into Standish's mock-beef Wellington. "Missed your cooking."

Standish nodded his acceptance of the compliment.

"With your steady hand back at the controls, think we can make Epona on schedule?" Mal asked Wash.

His mouth full, Wash just shook his head.

Zoe spoke for him. "Be a little behind schedule. Not seriously, a day perhaps."

Mal reached for the salad bowl. Zoe and Wash had brought back fresh vegetables – always a special treat on board ship – and Standish had made a spinach salad. As he scooped his second helping, he turned to the ship's new cook. "Well, can't say your first week aboard ship was boring, can you?"

"No, captain," Standish agreed. It hadn't been boring.


	3. Secrets and Servitude

**Chapter 3: Secrets and Servitude **

They were nearly done with dinner.

Jayne drained his mug and burped. "Standish, get me another beer."

"I'm eating, Mr. Cobb," the gambler pointed out. "I believe you are aware of the location of the galley, are you not?"

Kaylee giggled. Ezra Standish had been on board two weeks now, and she still was tickled by the way he talked … even if she didn't always understand his big words.

"Get me another beer," Jayne repeated. "You're a slave; you gotta obey orders."

Emerald fire flashed from his eyes, first at Jayne, then at Mal. Mal glanced at Zoe and Wash, the only crew members who knew the truth about Standish. Zoe shook her head almost imperceptibly.

"You're a slave, ain't you?" Jayne demanded.

"Not yours," Standish snapped.

"But you are a slave," Jayne persisted, no longer sounding quite so sure of himself.

"I am not a slave," Standish replied, using monosyllabics to be sure the gunman would understand him. He glanced at Mal, waiting for the captain to contradict him.

"Ezra owes me money. He's working it off," Mal said.

Wash smiled. Neither man had lied, technically.

"Captain Reynolds, am I obliged to follow the directions of this oaf?" _Best to have the matter settled, one way or the other_, Standish thought.

"This is my ship. The only orders either one of you follows are mine. And Zoe's," Mal added, as an afterthought.

"But –" Jayne began.

"Shut up, Jayne," Mal told him. "And get your own beer. And you, don't call your shipmates 'oaf'."

The big man frowned, but obeyed. Standish merely nodded his head.

When Jayne returned to the table, Mal told him, "Standish is ship's cook. He brings food to the table, that's part of his job. Fetching and carrying for you, that ain't part of his job."

"Then how come the last two planets we touched down on, he didn't get no shore leave? If he ain't a slave, how come his cabin only locks from the outside? Why are there handcu- "

"You sure do have a gnat in your noggin," Mal interrupted. "Standish has those quarters 'cause they're small. I didn't want to waste a cabin that I could rent to a paying passenger. Now change the subject or shut up. You're annoying Standish and boring the rest of us."

Wash said, "I finished that mystery novel I picked up at our last stop, if anyone wants to borrow it."

"I seldom read mysteries anymore," River said. "The _deus ex machina_ solutions are simultaneously predictable and unbelievable. Although from a sociological point of view, ancient mystery novels provide an excellent portrait of life during the era written."

"I'd never really looked at it that way before," Book remarked mildly.

"Especially the 20th and 21st century novels," River continued. "You can track the changes in societal expectations by following the transformations of mores and customs from Dashiell Hammett to Agatha Christie to Robert Bernard to Sharyn McCrumb."

"Really?" Wash was a bit overwhelmed by the direction the conversation was taking, but he was determined not to let Jayne steer the talk back to Standish's status.

River nodded. Then she turned to Jayne. "He's not a slave." Just as Mal and Standish started to relax, thinking the matter was closed, she went on, "He's an indentured servant. Well, technically, he's a convict, assigned to a term of penal servitude, rather than a bondservant."

"Don't be silly." After a long moment, Inara broke the stunned silence. "Mal would never buy a slave or a bondservant."

"Oh, he didn't," River responded.

"I like a good mystery sometimes," Mal inserted, hoping (in vain) to cut off River before she could say anything else. Right now it was a mystery to him why he'd let Simon and River Tam stay on board _Serenity._

"He bought his labor contract," the girl continued as if the captain hadn't said anything. She turned to Standish to reassure him. "I didn't go snooping through your cabin like Jayne did. You just think loud."

Simon murmured _sotto voce_ in Chinese a fraternal scolding about the ethics of telepathic eavesdropping.

"How'd you know I was snooping, unless you was snooping yourself?" Jayne wanted to know.

"My apologies, Miss River. I shall endeavor to maintain my mental cogitations at a quieter level," Standish said after a moment, with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances. He didn't know what else to do.

"I warned you, Doc, your sister gets to talking and acting crazy, we may need to make other arrangements," Mal said.

"She ain't acting crazy. She's acting witchy," Jayne corrected.

"My sister is not a witch," Simon protested.

"But she is crazy," Mal persisted, hoping to turn attention away from Standish and back to her.

"But she's right this time, isn't she?" Inara asked. "After everything you've said about slavery –"

"Ezra Standish served with me and Zoe in the war. He owes me money. He's working it off," Mal repeated. "Anything else is between him and me. He's same as any other crew member. And the only orders anyone follows on this ship are mine. The discussion is closed."

Dinner ended in an awkward silence, with everyone sneaking peeks at Standish, and trying not to let him see them do it.

* * *

Kaylee grinned as Standish moved a broom around the cargo hold floor. "Don't know what you're doing, but you sure ain't sweeping."

He paused in his efforts and looked up at her.

"You don't know how to sweep, do you?" she asked sympathetically.

"I regret to inform you, Miss Kaylee, that in my youth it was never the pinnacle of my ambitions to become a janitor."

"You talk fancier'n Simon. What did you do before –" she hesitated, "before you came on board _Serenity_?"

"I played cards."

"You played cards? For a living?"

He nodded.

She glanced at the broom, immobile in his hands. "You need smaller strokes to control where the dirt and dust are going. The way you're pushing that broom, you're just rearranging it."

He swept, a clumsy stroke, but slightly shorter than before.

"Not like that." She came down the stairs. "Let me show you how to do it properly."

Suppressing a grin, Standish surrendered the broom to her.

"See? Little strokes. Were you able to make a living off that? Just playing cards?"

"Miss Kaylee, there was a time when I won enough in an evening of cards that I could have bought this ship with my proceeds from merely an hour's play." Standish did not mention he had seldom been in a position to play for such stakes, nor that the last time he'd done so had been quite a long while ago.

"Wow!" Her brown eyes widened. "So how did you go from that to … this?"

"A run of bad luck," he confessed ruefully. Sensing an eager audience in the young mechanic, he began to tell her of opulent core world casinos and dirty saloons on semi-terraformed backwater moons.

"Standish!" Mal stood at the top of the stairs. "Mind telling me why Kaylee's doing your work?"

Kaylee glanced down, surprised to see how much floor she'd swept whilst they were talking.

"The young lady was merely demonstrating a more ergonomically efficient method, Captain."

"That's your fence to white-wash, not hers," Mal remanded him.

Standish raised a dark eyebrow. He hadn't expected Mal to be well read enough to make literary allusions. "May I impose on you to return that instrument? The captain is regrettably correct."

It took Kaylee a few seconds to decipher that as a request for the broom. "Here."

"My thanks for your assistance, Miss Kaylee." He nodded; it was almost – but not quite – a bow.

" 'Tweren't nothing. And you don't need to call me 'miss'."

"Yes, he does. If he talks to you, he keeps a respectful tongue in his mouth. But the less he talks to you, the better." Mal glanced down at Standish. "That clear?"

"Captain Reynolds, my sins may be legion, but I have never been accused of child molestation."

"I'm not a child," Kaylee protested.

"My most abject apologies, ma'am, if I offended. Please excuse me while I apply your lessons." Standish nodded again and began sweeping.

Mal gestured for Kaylee to come upstairs. Once she joined him, he told her, "You stay away from Ezra Standish. He's trouble."

* * *

"Aren't you being just a trifle hypocritical?" asked Inara Serra as she moved her queen forward. "Check."

Mal studied the board, then shifted his bishop. "Me? A hypocrite?"

"You find slavery so distasteful that you felt justified stealing a wallet from a man transporting a cargo of slaves**[1].** You helped those slaves escape from Mephitis; risking your own freedom smuggling them off-world, and the fee you charged them wasn't enough to cover your fuel costs**[2].** Yet you treat poor Standish like …" She moved her rook as she sought a term bad enough to describe the way Mal treated the ship's cook.

"You're overlooking two things, 'Nara. First, Standish ain't a slave. His labor contract clearly states it's a five year indenture. And second," Mal's knight leapt over Inara's defenses, "it's Lt. Standish."

Zoe leaned against the bulkhead, watching the chess game. "That's reason enough."

"By the way, checkmate," Mal added.

Inara glared up at him.

* * *

Standish knocked hesitantly on the door of Inara's shuttle.

"Come in," a dulcet voice invited.

"You sent for me, Miss Serra?"

"Inara, please. I only use my surname when signing legal documents," the raven-tressed courtesan explained. "The captain always calls you Standish. Do you prefer that, or should it be Ezra?"

"You may call me whatever you like, ma'am, although I confess a preference for a beautiful lady to address me by my given appellation." He eyed her quickly, enough to let her know he observed and appreciated her beauty, not lingering on any of her feminine attributes long enough to be rude or lewd. "It's a pleasure to be of service to a beautiful lady. How may I serve you?"

"I didn't call you in here to work. I just wanted you to know that I don't like the way Captain Reynolds is treating you."

"In that, fair Inara, our minds are in unison."

"If he goes too far, let me know. I'll talk to him."

Standish nodded his head. "I'm grateful for your concern. Your kindness and compassion rival your appearance."

Inara smiled. If only she could get Mal to talk like this occasionally.

"If it's not overly presumptuous of me, may I beg one favor?"

"What, Ezra?" She was too experienced to promise anything without knowing what he wanted.

"The captain has informed me that so long as I am a member of his crew, your professional services are forbidden. But could you spare me a few moments' conversation from time to time? Sgt. Reynolds was a valiant and competent fighter during the war, but hardly fit company for a gentleman. Peace has not improved him overmuch. An occasional interlude of civilized discourse on a subject other than fisticuffs or cargo might relieve the tedium of my …" Standish couldn't bring himself to say the word 'servitude'. " … of my time aboard _Serenity._"

"It would be my pleasure," she replied with a smile. "You might also seek the doctor's company, or Book's, if you need intellectual stimulation."

"Ah, but in your company, I find both intellectual and visual stimulation." He thought a moment, then quoted, "Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note/So is mine view enthralled to thy shape." **[3]**

A gentle laugh bubbled forth from her ruby lips. "I hope you're not saying I look like a donkey."

"An angel is like you, and you are like an angel," he replied**.[4]**

"From _Midsummer Night's Dream _to _Henry V._ It's been a while since anyone quoted Shakespeare to me," she said.

"Pigs will fly before you hear one word of the Bard's out of Mal Reynolds' lips," Standish predicted. "Which is why as much as I may lust after your delectable body, at the moment I lust after your mind more. Even the privilege of kissing your fingertips is forbidden me at present, but if you would condescend now and then to grant me a snippet of intelligent conversation, it would …."

"It would be my pleasure," Inara interrupted. "But I'd better let you get back to your other duties now. The last thing you need is to give Mal a valid reason to scold you."

Standish nodded.

* * *

[1] In the _Firefly _episode "Shindig."

[2] In the story "The Slaves of Mephitis," in _Of Dreams and Schemes #20,_ also posted at this website and AO3.

[3] _Midsummer Night's Dream,_ Act III, Scene 1

[4] _Henry V, _ Act V, Scene II


	4. Duties, Miscellaneous, As Assigned

**Chapter 4: Duties, Miscellaneous, as Assigned**

_ Serenity_ had touched dirt again, and Standish and Jayne were loading the cargo onto pallets. Wash used the forklift to remove the crates from the cargo hold.

"Nice, cool breeze," Kaylee called back to the ship from outside.

Jayne wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I could use a nice, cool breeze."

"Me, too," Standish agreed. He followed Jayne outside.

The breeze was cool, and pleasantly scented with some flower that Standish didn't recognize. He looked around, and seeing several trees that vaguely resembled crepe myrtle, guessed they were the source of the smell. He saw battered freighters to the left and right of _Serenity. _There were no docking bays, just ships parked on were in front of them: bars, pawnshops, cheap diners, brothels. As spaceports went, he'd seen better. But there were people there, plenty of people. Enough of a crowd to provide a distraction if he moved quickly enough.

Suddenly Zoe was by his side. Ezra neither heard nor saw her approach. "Don't even think about it," she warned.

"Think about what?" he asked innocently.

"Breaking your contract without even saying goodbye."

"You wound me, madam. I assure you, I never even thought of such a thing," Standish lied.

"In the ship," she ordered him.

Standish suppressed a sigh. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Mal stepped into the galley and stared at the sight before his eyes.

"Why you washing the dishes?" Mal asked Jayne. He felt a little nervous seeing the gunsel scrubbing the dishes, not sure he trusted his stomach to Jayne's standards of hygiene. "That's Standish's job."

"He beat me at Tallcard."

Mal frowned. Before he'd 'rescued' Ezra Standish, the crew used to play cards all the time, with the losers getting stuck with unwanted chores. One of the first things he'd done after buying Standish was assigning half those chores to him. On the one hand, Standish had gone against his wishes in putting those jobs up as Tallcard stakes – and going against the captain's wishes was foolhardy for any crewmember, and downright dangerous for one the captain owned. On the other hand, sooner or later he'd need Standish's gambling skills, and he couldn't afford to let him get rusty.

* * *

Ezra Standish sat on his bunk, cleaning the mud off the captain's boots. His friend Josiah Sanchez used to say he had a knack for recognizing the ridiculous in life, a knack which helped him keep his balance. Standish mused a moment, seeking the ridiculous. He could use a good laugh.

Well, the very notion that he, a former peacekeeper, was working on a ship of crooks was ridiculously ironic … though not as ridiculous as the fact that he had actually been, for a short time, a peacekeeper. 'Twas ridiculous that a former lieutenant was cleaning an ex-sergeant's boots.

Things could be worse, he reminded himself. He could be in prison. He could've had his labor contract sold to some farmer, and be sweating as a field hand on a planet that lacked indoor plumbing. At least with Mal he had a chance of finishing his five year sentence in five or six years. Someone who signed an indenture contract voluntarily usually had his wages and length of service agreed to in advance. For someone like him, involuntarily indentured for penal servitude or for debt, the length of the contract was more a suggestion than anything else. Mal was paying him a decent wage, although he didn't see any of it. Legally, his bondholder could pay him mere pennies, which meant it could take him years to pay off the price of his contract. Longer if his bondholder charged him for room and board, or for tools; debt could easily double or triple the time a bondservant served. He tried to cheer himself up by thinking of ways his situation could be worse. Mal could've ordered him to address him as 'master' or 'my lord' instead of 'captain' or 'sir.' Since he preferred to eschew informality, it was no hardship for him to address Mal as 'CaptainReynolds' or 'sir'.Mal could've ordered him to clean the boots while he was still wearing them.

It was a good thing he hadn't. That order he would've disobeyed. And he had yet to learn the penalty for outright disobedience – he'd seen Mal fight, both in battle and in barracks room brawls, and had no desire to be on the wrong side of Mal Reynolds' gun or fists. He'd forced himself to comply with the captain's demands and instructions up till now. But if Reynolds had expected him to kneel and clean his boots … no, he drew the line there.

Although the fair Inara was off-limits, he could at least enjoy the view. Shepherd Book and Dr. Tam provided decent company and conversation. And – he stopped, unable to think of any other benefits to his current situation.

Once the dirt was off, he started to polish the boots. Halfway through the job, he stopped. If he polished them well enough, he was likely to find bootboy added to his ever-growing list of jobs: cook, steward, stevedore, janitor, etc. If he didn't polish them properly, Mal was likely to give them back and order him to do it over.

* * *

"Got a customer I wanna keep honest," Mal explained.

"You trust me with a gun?" Standish said in disbelief. Nonetheless, he took the weapon Mal handed him. "What's to keep me from shooting you?"

"Zoe and Jayne," Mal replied matter-of-factly.

Standish automatically checked the weapon. It was loaded, and appeared to be in good condition.

"Zoe's likely to just wound you. After all, my will leaves the ship and everything on it to her … which includes you." Mal smiled maliciously. "Jayne, he'll probably just kill you. Likes killing, Jayne does. Besides, I ain't likely to turn my back on you, Standish. I know you too well to trust you."

"You don't trust anyone, Captain." Standish realized the words were incorrect even as he spoke them. Mal trusted Zoe and Kaylee. To a lesser extent, he trusted Wash and Inara. The others … perhaps. But not him. Definitely not him.

"Live longer that way," Mal replied. "Ready?"

"Yes, sir." Standish managed to keep the honorific respectful, not sarcastic. He hadn't been off _Serenity _in weeks, and even if he wouldn't have a chance to escape, at least he'd be breathing real air for a few hours.


	5. New Passengers

**Chapter 5: New Passengers**

Kaylee sat beside _Serenity_'s open loading ramp, sipping a glass of lemonade. She smiled at the tangy taste; Ezra had added some of the fresh raspberries they'd bought yesterday to the usual dehydrated lemon-flavored powder and water, as well as a dash of honey. A gaily decorated silk parasol protected her from New Hunan's hot sun. She watched as a middle-aged woman went from one ship to another. The raven-haired woman spoke to the ticketing agent for each vessel for a few minutes, then walked on. Kaylee wondered where the woman wanted to go, and if _Serenity_ would be the ship to take her there.

"_Ni hao_," Kayelee greeted her politely. The young mechanic raised one brown eyebrow, surprised to see a red snake wrapped around the woman's shoulders.

The woman merely bowed her head in reply. Like most Asian women, her age was almost impossible to guess. A few strands of gray hair mingled with the black, and her face was not without wrinkles. She could have been anywhere between forty and sixty-five. "Your ship, where is it going?"

"Tuckaleechee," Kaylee replied.

"Is it possible you might be willing to go elsewhere?" the woman asked.

Kaylee agreed, "Anything's possible."

"I wish to charter your ship."

Both Kaylee's eyebrows rose. That would mean changing course, either delivering their cargo to Tuckaleechee late or else welching on the contract to deliver it, depending on where she wanted to go. But a charter might be good enough money to make it worth while. "Hang on just a minute. I'll go get the captain."

"I only hope," the woman said as Kaylee dashed up the ramp, "that they will be able to accommodate Scheherazade."

A few moments later Mal Reynolds came down the ramp, Kaylee at his heels. "Howdy," Mal said. "Captain Mal Reynolds. Kaylee tells me you're interested in chartering _Serenity."_

"If you are able to meet my needs."

"And what would those needs be, ma'am?"

"My family and I wish to go to Moab."

"How many folks we talking about here?" Mal asked.

"Fifteen people, ten animals."

"This ain't no luxury liner. I could do it, but quarters wouldn't be comfortable. People be doubling and tripling up, maybe some sharing cabins with my crew," Mal warned. "Maybe even in the hold with the animals."

"We are used to sharing space with our four-legged brethren," she assured him.

"Then why don't you come on board, and we can negotiate terms." Mal turned to Kaylee. "Go tell Standish to make a pot of tea, and fetch out some of those ginger cookies he baked. I've got business to discuss with …" he paused, waiting for her to introduce herself.

"Madame Nguyen," she obliged. "Of the Nguyen Family Circus."

* * *

Standish bit back the obscenity he wanted to shout. "Scheherazade, not again." He stared at her in dismay.

Madame Nguyen chose that moment to appear in the cargo hold.

"You be careful," she admonished Standish. "That's not to be wasted."

"I assure you, madam, I shall treat it as through it were made of gold." He went to fetch a shovel. She petted Scheherazade's face.

"Elephant dung worth less than gold, but more than foolish deckhand," Madame Nguyen retorted as she continued petting Scheherazade.

Standish said nothing, judging to safer to keep his mouth shut. The first time Scheherazade had defecated, Standish had thrown the dung out the airlock, fearing it would clog the ship's toilet systems. He hadn't known that Madame Nguyen's niece Giang Tien dried and shellacked the better examples of feces, then put plastic flowers in them, selling them as 'Blooming Elephant Turds,' nor that Madame Nguyen sold the remainder of Scheherazade's fecal matter to farmers as superior fertilizer. She had complained to Mal about the lost income, and Mal had docked him a day's pay to reimburse her for the loss.

They were three days into their trip to Moab, which Wash had estimated would take two weeks. With three dogs, four horses, an elephant, a parrot, and Madame Nguyen's pet snake, Standish feared it would be a very long fortnight.

* * *

That Madame Nguyen had given the crew of _Serenity_ free passes to the circus' first performance had not surprised Standish. That Mal Reynolds had postponed their trip to Tuckaleechee with their belated cargo, and that Mal had permitted him to accompany the rest of the crew to the circus, did surprise him. On the other hand, since he was wedged in between Mal and Jayne, obviously the captain thought he was unlikely to take the opportunity to escape.

Standish was enjoying watching Kaylee and River and their reactions more than he was watching the performances. They stared as Tu Thuc and Tran Ngoc soared six meters overhead, as though they hadn't watched the Nguyen cousins practicing the same routine in the cargo hold every day for the past two weeks. They waved enthusiastically as Quynh Duo rode Scheherazade around the ring. Standish gave a half-grin as the two clowns, Lam Tai and Vo Dinh, improvised a comic routine out of which of them was to clean up after Scheherazade. He was glad he didn't need to worry about that chore any more. And he was glad to be getting his own cubicle back, despite how miniscule it was. The cargo for Tuckaleechee had been stored in his quarters, and he'd been forced to share with Simon. He wondered if Kaylee knew the object of her schoolgirl crush snored.


	6. What's a Dog-Robber?

**Chapter 6:** **What's a Dog-Robber?**

Mal set his fork down, frowning. "I should dock you a day's pay for this. On Shadow we wouldn't feed this to the pigs."

"I'm forced to admit, Ezra, it's not one of your better efforts," Simon agreed.

Jayne continued shoveling the burnt casserole into his mouth. "I've et worse."

"So've I," Mal admitted. "Doesn't mean I choose to now."

"C'mon, Cap, we've all burned dinner once or twice," Kaylee said.

"Rank amateurs taking turns in the kitchen, sure. Expect more out of the ship's cook." Mal glared at Standish. "Back to the galley, try again. Dinner for nine."

Standish's eyes narrowed. "Yes, sir," he muttered. He left the dining room and returned to the galley.

On Inara's exquisitely chiseled face, one dark eyebrow rose in disapproval. "Really, Mal, was that necessary?"

"What?" the captain pretended not to understand her.

"You went too far this time, Mal," Simon agreed.

"I admit this is _tsway-niou__**[1]**__,_" Wash gestured at the food on his plate. "But you don't need to treat him like _tsway-niou_, too."

River pronounced solemnly, "That's a bad word." She thought a moment, then added, "Unless you're a farmer. They're allowed to say it."

"Just what did Lt. Standish do during the war, Sgt. Reynolds, that you feel justified in treating him the way you do?" Inara demanded.

"He was the colonel's dog-robber." Mal stood and headed for the door. "Let me know when dinner's ready." He stomped out of the dining room.

"Dog-robber? What's a dog-robber?" Kaylee asked.

"You said he was the supply officer for your unit," Wash remembered.

Zoe glanced at her husband, then stared at her plate, idly stabbing the burnt casserole with a fork. Wash hadn't been in the war. He didn't know what it had been like.

Book looked up from his plate. "A dog-robber is someone who tends to the needs of a superior officer. Someone who's willing to rob a dog to get a general –"

"Colonel Oberin, in our case," Zoe interrupted.

" – or a colonel not only the supplies he needs, but the luxuries he wants," the shepherd continued. "Experts at midnight requisitioning, five-finger discounts, black market trading, even commandeering civilian supplies."

Wash suddenly remembered what else Mal had said when Standish came on board, that he put the colonel's needs ahead of the troop's.

"Seems to me you know a lot of unshepherdish things," Jayne remarked. Book just smiled enigmatically.

* * *

[1] Bull crap


	7. Cardshark

**Chapter 7: Cardshark**

Mal opened the door to Standish's cubicle and stepped in without knocking. "Got a job for you."

"When don't you?" he muttered. Louder, he replied. "Yes, sir?"

Mal heard the _sotto voce_ comment, but chose to ignore it. "This job you're gonna like."

Standish raised a raven-black eyebrow, and waited for the captain to continue.

"Poker."

Despite himself, Standish's eyes lit up. The ancient game of poker had fallen out of fashion, but he preferred it to Tallcard, when he got the chance to play it.

"One of Inara's clients took her to this nightclub. Nice place -– restaurant, dance floor, casino. Some of the games are for pretty high stakes. You as good with cards as you think you are?"

"Yes." Mal stared him down until he added: "Sir."

"I'll gather all the liquid assets I can. You parlay it into some serious cash," Mal ordered.

"What's my cut?" Standish asked.

"Your cut?"

"Do not bind the mouths of the kine that tread the grain," Standish quoted. "If there's nothing in it for me, I might be tempted to lose deliberately just out of spite."

"You'd regret it afterwards, if you did," Mal warned.

"I don't doubt it," Standish admitted, "but at least I'd have the satisfaction of seeing you wounded in your most sensitive spot –- your pocket book -– first."

"How much did your attitude cost you the last time I fined you?" Mal asked, his voice deceptively mild.

"A day's pay. Captain."

"Ain't seemed to have learned your lesson yet. Let's see if two days' pay will teach you to respect your betters."

"It'll be an icy day in Hell when you're my better, Captain Reynolds."

"Better make that a week's pay."

Green eyes smoldering, the gambler shut his mouth, before he talked his way into forfeiting a month's pay.

"Guess you'd best win, if you want to earn back all that pay you're losing," Mal told him, jingling the manacles hanging from pipe as he spoke.

Standish took a deep breath. He looked up at the manacles. "When I first came aboard _Serenity,_ you mentioned the possibility of bonuses if you could make use of my talents. Would not an event like this qualify?"

"Might could," Mal allowed.

The thought of a good game of cards, even if the stake came from Malcolm Reynolds and the winnings went back to him, was too tempting to resist. "I'm yours to command, Captain Reynolds."

"Speak up, Standish. You're talkin' too quiet to hear."

"I'm at your command, sir." _As you well know, Captain Reynolds, sir. _Another thought occurred to him. "I lack the sartorial splendor to pass without comment in such circles. A visit to a haberdashery will be required."

"You wanna try that again? In English, this time."

"I can't barge into a high stakes game, uninvited, dressed like a field hand," Standish informed the captain.

Mal frowned. Standish was wearing his hand-me-downs. "What's wrong with the way you're dressed?"

"My attire must inspire confidence in my fellow players that I can easily afford to pay my debts, in the unlikely event the cards go against me." Putting it in monosyllables, he explained, "I need to buy new clothes."

Mal thought a moment, then nodded. "I'll pick you up something."

"Captain, with respect," Standish hesitated a moment, not wanting to offend his bondholder and forfeit another week's pay, "I have more experience in matters sartorial than you do. Please permit me to select my own garments for this assignment."

"You saying I don't know how to dress proper?"

_Properly, _Standish mentally corrected the captain's grammar. "I said no such thing, sir."

"But you meant it." Mal considered a moment. "You can buy new duds. But I'm going to the store with you, and the price of the clothes comes out of the bonus you would've gotten from the game."

Standish nodded. It was probably the best deal he could expect.

"Maybe take the doctor with us. He's used to mixing in society, and knows the way such folk dress."

_So do I, _Standish thought, but it wasn't worth arguing the point. "What if I lose?"

"Then Jayne'll have to have a little talk with you. He ain't the most articulate man in the 'verse, but there are certain forms of nonverbal communication he positively excels at."

Suppressing a sigh, Standish lowered his eyes. Threatening to lose on purpose had been a tactical error.

* * *

Clothes shopping took much more time and money than Mal had anticipated. His plan had been to go to a thrift shop, and pay three credits for a used suit. Standish had agreed to that, but only as a starting point. As far as the gambler was concerned, the thrift shop was where he upgraded his wardrobe enough to go to a men's clothing shop that sold clothes off the rack. That permitted him to dress in a proper style to go to a proper tailor, and buy evening clothes.

Mal, who'd always considered clothes something to keep him warm and/or cover the tattoo on his rear, couldn't believe the emphasis Standish was putting on proper attire, nor the money he was spending on them.

* * *

After Standish had turned Mal's one thousand, six hundred, forty-three credits into five thousand, three hundred credits, he handed half of his winnings to Zoe. Then, with the fair Inara on his arm, he discreetly approached the casino manager. "Might there be a game with more interesting stakes? I find your establishment quite charming, but the thrill of the game is increased, I find, when one plays for more than matchsticks."

The manager looked Standish over. The dark-haired gambler was dressed like a gentleman, and the lady accompanying him was a Registered Companion who'd been a guest of nightclub regulars before. He nodded. "I shall make inquiries, sir."

He returned a few moments later, and led them to a back room. Zoe and Wash tried to follow, but were stopped by a casino employee.

"Sorry, sir, ma'am, this room is for a private party."

Wash just smiled and led his wife off. "Mal ain't gonna like this," he whispered. "He trusts Standish about half as far as he can throw him."

"Inara's with him," Zoe pointed out. However, she, too, was concerned. Mal had asked them to keep an eye on Standish.

Meanwhile, the manager was introducing Standish and Inara to the players in the other room.

Standish was courteous to the gentlemen, and gallant to the ladies. Inara renewed her acquaintance with one or two men she'd met before, either professionally or socially. Once the social niceties were out of the way, they got down to the business of serious card-playing.

Outside, Zoe and Wash enjoyed as close to a date as they'd had in a long time, all the while keeping watch on the door to make sure Standish didn't slip out with the captain's money.

* * *

"I've just made you fifteen thousand credits. Couldn't you at least give me a few hours' shore leave?" Standish asked.

"Something tells me that shore leave would turn out to be more than just a few hours. Likely to never see you again," Mal pointed out.

"If I gave you my word?"  
Mal shook his head. "Your word's no good. Got no reason to trust you, and you got every reason to run."

Standish bit his lip to keep from swearing. He was damned if he'd do anything as undignified as begging. "Maybe if my working conditions were better, I wouldn't have any reason to run."

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," Mal quoted. "All right, a few hours of shore leave … chaperoned. Jayne can go with you."

"Jayne?" The gambler repeated in dismay.

"You go chaperoned, or you don't go."


	8. New Dunsmuir, Beaumond

**Chapter 8: New Dunsmuir, Beaumond**

Ezra Standish sat at the bar, sipping a glass of Chablis. Like everyone else in the room, he watched a giant screen hanging above the bar.

Wherever mankind went after leaving Earth-that-was, horses came with them. On the Inner Planets, they were the pampered pets of rich men's daughters. On the Rimworlds, they were transportation, plow-beasts, occasionally food sources. But wherever men and horses gathered, there was racing.

Standish watched as a dozen horses ran around the muddy track. The racetrack was mere meters away; Standish could easily have stepped outside and watched the race in person. But outside it was cool and drizzly. In the bar, it was comfortably dry, and the company was excellent -– all the movers and shakers of New Dunsmuir society, indeed, of all the planet Beaumond.

A strawberry roan stallion pulled ahead of the other horses, first one length, then two. He crossed the finish line. Outside in the stands, the crowds cheered. Those in the bar were too well-bred to exclaim with victory as their horse won, or to shout obscenities if their horse had lost. But there were mutterings galore, both joyous and angry, and many drinks ordered either to celebrate the victory or drown their sorrows.

Standish glanced at the man next to him. By his pleased expression, he'd bet on the strawberry roan. "Quite a horse, eh?"

The man nodded. "Only too be expected. His sire was Bonnie Prince Charlie out of Fa Mu-lan, by Sultan's Shadow."

"Men or horses, blood will tell," Standish agreed sagely. "I remember seeing Sultan's Shadow race. Left the rest of the pack in the dust. Eli Slocum, at your service. "

"Kirby Detterschmidt, at yours."

Standish already knew Detterschmidt's name, of course. His research had been meticulous. He knew of his interest in race horses and horse breeding, the breweries he owned, and his hobby of art collecting. The two chatted of horses and races past.

For a few moments the screen was filled with the jockey, the trainer, and the horse's owner all being interviewed. Then an announcer said the next race would not be for half an hour, and a news broadcast began.

Standish pulled a gold pocket watch from his vest pocket. If Mal's friend with the odd moniker had done his job, his opportunity should be coming up in just a moment.

For a few minutes a reporter droned on about a minor local scandal -– something about the city council and some rather clumsy bribes. Then a picture of a jade statuette appeared on the screen.

"At the Harada Museum of Fine Art, a jade statue of Kuan-yin was nearly stolen. Although the thieves escaped, the statue -– which was carved on Earth-that-was in during the Sing Ling Restoration - was recovered by the guards.

Standish lowered his voice. "They're putting a brave face on it, aren't they?"

"What do you mean?" Detterschmidt asked.

"They didn't recover the statue. The thieves had already made the substitution. That's a fake they have there on display."

"How do you know?"

"I know someone who knows someone." Standish lowered his voice again, speaking in a whisper. "The thieves are out of their league. Their usual fences can't handle anything so valuable. If they try to ransom it back to the museum, they'll be arrested. Would you believe my scapegrace kinsman actually thought I would help his … associates find a buyer for the Kuan-yin? 'With your social contacts'," Standish mimicked in a whiny voice. "He's lucky I haven't turned him in. If he weren't my second cousin …."

Detterschmidt's eyes lit up.

The fake newsfeed that Mr. Universe had slipped into the broadcast ended, going back to the actual local news, and then on to the next race. Neither Standish nor Detterschmidt noticed.

This would be the fifth time 'Eli Slocum' had sold the same statuette.


	9. Shore Leave

**Chapter 9: Shore Leave**

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Mal nodded. "You're fond of Kaylee, ain't you?"

"She's a very nice girl." Standish emphasized the word 'girl;' the ship's mechanic was pretty, but much too young for him. She reminded him of Nettie Wells' niece, Casey.

"She wants a little shore leave. Simon thinks a change of scene, some fresh air, might do his sister good. Two questions. If I sent you out with the three of them, would they come back safe? And would you come back?"

"A primitive backwater planet like this? Where would I run to and why would I bother?" Standish took a deep breath. "If you want me to escort Miss Kaylee and the Tams, I shall endeavor to ensure all four of us return to the ship safely."

"Good." Mal handed him a gunbelt and three five-credit notes. Standish pocketed the notes, then checked the gun. "Couple hours ought to be enough time. Not that much to see or do here. Show 'em the town – what there is of it – buy yourselves lunch. Let Kaylee get a souvenir or two if she wants to. Be back before dark."

Standish nodded. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Standish beckoned to a flower-seller. He looked over her tray. "Lilacs, I think. Lavender for Miss Kaylee, white for MissRiver." He took the corsages and handed them to the girls.

"Ezra, you didn't have to do that." The delighted expression on Kaylee's face belied her words.

River sniffed hers. "They're beautiful."

"Beautiful ladies deserve beautiful flowers," he replied gallantly. He dug into his pocket for a few coins to pay the flower-seller.

The girls pinned the corsages to their blouses. Simon merely looked chagrinned, although whether his expression was because he hadn't thought of buying flowers first or that Kaylee had attached the lavender blossoms to her bosom without his help, Standish couldn't tell.

"Now then, dear ladies, what is your pleasure? Shopping, dining, or merely a constitutional down the main thoroughfare – such as it is – of this humble hamlet?"

"Constitutional?" Kaylee repeated inquiringly.

"He wants to know if you want to take a walk," Simon translated.

"I saw a used book and vid store," River suggested.

"Fresh entertainment we have not seen or read a dozen times would be welcome, I admit." Standish slipped his left arm through Kaylee's right, and his right arm through River's left. "Shall we proceed?"

Simon frowned, less than pleased at the way Standish had outmaneuvered him.

* * *

Watching River Tam in the book and vid store, Ezra Standish was less reminded of the proverbial kid in the candy shop than of a butterfly in a garden, flitting from orange blossoms to orchids to pansies to bluebells. She dashed from shelf to shelf: children's literature, science, history, poetry, philosophy. Standish watched her with amusement, Kaylee in amazement, and her brother Simon in dismay.

"Uh, River, why don't you stop now. I'm not sure I can afford all that," the doctor confessed.

"At the very least, MissRiver, have mercy on my arms and limit yourself to what I can carry," Standish added.

Ignoring both of them, River grabbed two more vids and yet another book. Her choices were spilling out of her basket; she didn't seem to notice.

"I've never seen River this excited before," Kaylee told Standish quietly. "At least, not when she was …"

"Lucid?" suggested Standish

"You got any books you wanna trade?" the shopkeeper asked. "The way she's going, I won't have much left for any other customers."

Kaylee nodded. "We could go back to the ship and fetch some."

"You folks just visiting? Or new immigrants?"

"We're from _Serenity._ Just delivered a load of quadro-triticale seeds and farm equipment."

After a few moments, the four finally decided on their purchases. Standish limited himself to one adventure novel; he needed something to provide at least temporary escape from his bondage. Kaylee bought three vids – two romantic comedies and one horror vid. Simon bought nothing, since paying for River's purchases took all of his pay. River, however, chose six poetry books in four different languages, seven children's books (ranging from 19th century to contemporary), two instructional vids on Scottish country dance (beginning and intermediate), a book on the history of ballet, an astrophysics textbook, a collection of essays on military strategy and tactics, three vids of Chinese opera, a biochemistry book that must've weighed at last five kilograms, an animated vid of erotic Persian folktales, a book on mycology in German, a collection of essays on macroeconomics, a four vid set of the history of the Incan empire back on Earth-that-was, and a book on symbolic logic (filled with more symbols than words).

"Your sister certainly has eclectic taste," Standish observed.

"She's always had widely diverse interests," Simon agreed.

After they had paid for their purchases, Simon, Standish, and River divided her choices between them.

"I can carry one or two of those," Kaylee offered.

The gentlemen rearranged River's books and vids, and the four of them started down the road.

"I have some of the captain's money left," Standish announced. "Would anyone be interested in stopping for a cup of tea, perhaps some sandwiches or pastries?"

"That sounds good," Kaylee agreed enthusiastically.

Standish smiled indulgently at her. Her youthful appetite was a compliment to any cook.

"I thought I saw a teashop earlier," Simon said.

"Yes," Standish agreed. "I believe it was on the left side of the street."

Three local hooligans approached them.

"Two pretty girls," one observed. He was tall, with a scar running from the corner of his left eye to his chin.

"Pretty girls ought to be with us, not with strangers," declared one of his comrades, who was a good head shorter than his fellows.

"Get lost," ordered the third, a young man with carroty-orange hair.

"Excuse us, please," Simon said, trying to push past them.

"That ain't polite," Scarface said.

"Not polite at all," Shorty agreed.

Carrot Top said, "Maybe we need to teach them some manners."

"Not interested," Kaylee told them.

The three formed a line in front of _Serenity_'s crew members. "You two, get lost," Scarface ordered. "These here girls is gonna keep company with us for a bit."

"No, we ain't," Kaylee retorted.

River turned to her brother and murmured something in Chinese.

"We really don't want any trouble, gentlemen," Standish told them, his voice deceptively mild.

"Good, then we don't have to hurt you none." Shorty drew a knife from his belt and ran his finger along the blade.

"If you are also desirous of avoiding trouble, I recommend you remove yourselves. Post haste," Standish continued.

The trio stared at him, uncomprehending.

"You ain't dumb enough to threaten us, are you?" Carrot Top asked.

"I never waste time on threats." Standish dropped the bag with River's books, glad that Simon had taken the lighter (but more fragile) vids. He pulled out his gun. He shot the knife from Shorty's hand. He fired again, grazing Carrot Top's shoulder. He aimed the gun at Scarface's face. "That's your warning. Do I need to take more serious action?"

Scarface shook his head.

"Miss Kaylee, can you manage my bag along with your own?"

"I think so," she whispered, still stunned by the speed and accuracy with which he'd shot.

"I suggest forgoing the trip to the tea shop and returning to the ship. I'll prepare some refreshments for us there." Standish kept his gun on the hooligans.

"Sounds good," Simon muttered.

The four of them proceeded down the street, quickly, but without running. They turned the corner as soon as was humanly possible.

"Doctor, ladies, I recommend removing ourselves from this vicinity before the local gendarmes ask inconvenient questions."

"Best damned idea I've heard all day," Kaylee agreed. "I never seen anybody shoot as fast as that."

Standish holstered his gun and took the bag full of books from the young mechanic. "That's much too heavy for you, Miss Kaylee."

"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" Kaylee asked, hero-worship in her eyes.

"Necessity is a good teacher, Miss Kaylee. There have been times when superior marksmanship was more vital to my survival than a gentleman's education." He thought for a moment of his former colleagues. Mr. Larabee would've been faster; Mr. Tanner would've been more accurate. Still, he'd been good enough, even if not their peer.

* * *

"You should've seen him, Mal. I never seen anybody that fast," Kaylee said at the dinner table that night.

"The young lady exaggerates," Standish said modestly.

"She's telling the truth. He'd shot two – nonfatally, but enough to convince them to leave us alone – before I'd even realized he'd drawn his gun," Simon verified.

"Maybe he ought to go up against me, see who's better," Jayne growled. As usual, there was a mean look in his eyes.

"Thank you, no," Standish declined.

"Chicken?"

"No," the gambler lied, "it's simply that the captain has saddled me with too many chores to have time to waste on petty contests."

Mal nodded. The last thing he needed was Jayne picking on Standish, and getting himself killed. Jayne Cobb was an idiot, but he had his uses.

After dinner, Mal pulled Standish aside for a private word. "Good work, today. Worth a bonus, I think."

Standish raised an eyebrow.

"Taking a month's pay off your debt."

"I did it for Kaylee and River, not for the cash. Nevertheless … thank you. Sir."


	10. Smuggling Run to Pomona

**Chapter 10: Smuggling Run to Pomona**

Dinner was finished. The dishes were cleared away, but not yet washed. Zoe and Wash went off for some private time together. Mal went to the bridge, after warning Standish not to let the dishes wait too long. Jayne departed for his own cabin, probably to clean his guns. Inara laid out the mah jongg tiles, and she, Simon, Book, and Standish settled down to a game. River and Kaylee stayed to watch.

After they'd played a round or two, Standish ventured to ask, "May I inquire, sir, why you took to playing Friar Tuck to Captain Reynolds' Robin Hood? Forgive me if I pry."

"You'll find in the Black, Ezra, that most people don't like to discuss why they're out here," Inara advised him.

"I left the monastery for a sabbatical. I'd been cloistered for two years, and needed to be out amongst ordinary people again." The shepherd sidestepped Standish's question.

"He came aboard because he liked _Serenity;_ he stayed 'cause we needed him," Kaylee explained. She remembered when Book had joined their 'family.' He'd chosen _Serenity_ because it was the prettiest ship of all the ships at the spaceport, not even inquiring as to their destination.

"If there was ever a flock of lost lambs and black sheep that needed a shepherd's guidance, it's the crew of this ship," Inara agreed.

In the corner, River quietly began reciting, "Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?"

"If you don't mind, I would prefer to change the subject. I would rather not discuss how I came to be a crew member of _Serenity,_ and I'm fairly sure, Ezra, that you wouldn't, either," Simon pointed out.

"I withdraw the question," Standish replied obediently.

For the next few rounds, discussion was limited to which was the Prevailing Wind, the last two planets they'd visited, whether or not a knitted triplet was permissible (mah jongg having too many local variations to count), and the highly publicized divorce of vid star Anita Wu.

Book turned to Standish. "You've known Captain Reynolds a long time. What was he like when you knew him during the war?"

"A competent soldier, but he had no use for the military chain of command, no respect for authority," the former 'brown shirt' lieutenant replied. "If he wasn't so damned good at what he did, and if we hadn't been so short-handed, he probably would've spent half the war in the brig."

Simon looked around, making sure that neither Mal nor Zoe were in danger of returning. "Zoe told me once that at the Battle of Serenity Valley, the officers died early on, and Mal wound up in command of 4,000 troops."

"No wonder we lost," Standish muttered.

"Ezra! That ain't nice," Kaylee protested.

"Serenity Valley was merely the final battle. It couldn't have made any difference. There was no way the Independents could ever have won," River declared. "An Alliance victory was a foregone conclusion."

"You were playing with dolls when the war ended," Inara pointed out.

"I've read the reports," replied River.

Book raised a white eyebrow at her phrasing. Not 'I've read reports of the war' or 'I studied it in social studies class,' but 'I've read the reports.' "I have trouble seeing you as a 'brown shirt', Standish. You've always struck me more as siding with the winners, rather than being politically motivated."

"I have my quixotic moments, and nothing is more quixotic than being drawn to the romance of a lost cause," Standish philosophized.

"Lost cause? We might've won," protested Kaylee.

"We?" Simon asked. "You're too young to have been an Independent."

"I was too young to fight, but I had kinfolk who did. Most of the Rimworlds supported the Independence movement," Kaylee reminded him. "You being from a core world, I s'pose you were for unification, whether we wanted to be unified or not?"

Simon's relationship with Kaylee was rocky enough; he didn't need the politics of a war seven years ago to disturb the rapport they were developing. "I was concentrating on my medical classes at the time."

"Our parents were very pro-unification," River said. "Profound, promote, proceed, program, Prometheus."

Simon sighed. River had slipped into one of her moods again. At least she distracted Kaylee from inquiring how much he'd agreed with his parents' political views at the time. He sighed again. When had keeping the respect of a semi-literate mechanic become so important to him?

"I thought the war was a tragic waste, but I believed then … and still believe … that unification was in the best interests of everyone." Inara turned to Book. "What about you, Shepherd?"

"As a servant of the Prince of Peace, I just wanted the killing to stop," the shepherd replied. If he'd preferred one side over the other, he did not mention it.

"I'm curious, Ezra. If the officers died in the first few days of the battle, how is it Mal was in command rather than you?" Inara asked.

"By the time of Serenity Valley, I was already a POW." Standish rearranged his tiles.

"Did you fight in a lot of battles?" asked Kaylee.

"Very few. I was a logistics officer. I was more concerned with procuring and distributing food, ammunition, and uniforms to the troops than actually firing any weapons myself."

* * *

Standish lay on the bunk and took another slug from the stolen whisky bottle. He didn't normally indulge in behavior as vulgar as drinking from the bottle, but this was a special occasion.

It was JD's birthday.

JD's 21st birthday.

Back home in Four Corners, Mr. Wilmington and his other former associates would be toasting John Dunne's natal anniversary. There would be drinks in the saloon, possibly Widow Travis would bake a cake - Standish nearly choked on his whisky. When had he come to regard that flea-bitten town on a dusty two-bit moon as home?

He shook his head and took another, larger gulp of whisky. It must just be that after working on _Serenity_, anywhere would look good by comparison. He couldn't possibly be homesick for that miserable town, or for the six men he'd once thought of as his friends.

* * *

"Shuttle clear," Inara's voice came over the communicator.

"_Zaijian.__**[1]**_See you in the world," Wash replied.

"Enjoy decontamination," Mal wished her.

Wash frowned as Mal reminded him of decontam. "That's what I hate about coming to Pomona."

Zoe reached over and tousled her husband's hair. "The captain, Standish, and I got it worse than you do."

"You're a braver man than I am, Gunga Din," Wash misquoted.

* * *

Three uniformed guards stood behind the two bureaucrats. Both bureaucrats were in formal suits, with jeweled ID pendants hanging from gold necklaces. The gray haired man wore the jade encrusted badge of the Pomona Department of Agriculture. The woman, a redhead Mal would have considered attractive under other circumstances, wore the garnet trimmed badge of the Pomona Department of Commerce.

"All your papers seem in order, Captain Reynolds," she acknowledged.

The agricultural bureaucrat stepped forward, gesturing to the guards to follow him. "No plant substances? No seeds?"

"Got a minor hydroponics unit for our own food supply," Mal told him, "and some of my people keep flowers in their quarters. But those won't be going ashore."

"Nevertheless, we must protect our world. Are these all your passengers and crew?" the agro'crat gestured at the line of eight people standing in the cargo hold.

Mal nodded. "All but one. She took the shuttle to your northern continent, and she'll go through decontam there."

Actually, two women were missing: Inara on the shuttle, and River hidden in Kaylee's quarters.

The guards raised their sprayguns. They squirted the crew and passengers of _Serenity_ with a fine mist.

"Yuck," Jayne muttered.

"Welcome to Pomona, the garden of the universe," the agro'crat said, with no trace of irony. "If you wish to go past the spaceport quarantine district, you must submit to further decontamination procedures. Otherwise, it is safe for you to disembark now. Enjoy your stay."

The 'welcoming party' left.

"I just love Pomona," Wash muttered.

"Okay, Wash, Jayne, get started unloading the cargo. Kaylee, go check on River, then go get us some fuel and supplies. Book, you got time for some shore leave, if you want to play missionary to the gardeners. Zoe, Standish, c'mon. We got an invitation from the doctor to join him in sickbay for some prune juice."

Zoe frowned.

Standish snarled, "You owe me for this, Captain."

Mal nodded. "Month off your debt_, _as agreed."

"Should be two months," Standish muttered as he headed for sickbay.

Kaylee asked, "Now that it's all over now, you mind explaining? Why are you three smuggling seeds in your bellies? I heard of drugs being transported this way, but orchid seeds?"

"Smallest plant seeds in the 'verse," Mal told. "The government of Pomona is very fussy what plants are imported, afraid of disease coming in."

Wash added, "It also lets them control the economy."

Mal continued, "Rich planters wanting to crossbreed perfume variations will pay a fortune for unlicensed orchid seeds."

* * *

[1] Goodbye


	11. Reavers!

**Chapter 11: Reavers!**

"You've done it this time, boy." Mal stared at him, his blue-gray eyes as cold as the steel they resembled.

Standish said nothing. There was no way his silver-tongue could get him out of this mess.

"Take off your shirt," Mal ordered.

Unable to suppress a shiver of apprehension, Standish obeyed. He looked around the captain's cabin, a room he normally entered only to clean. He glanced down at his boots, then took a deep breath and forced himself to stare straight ahead.

Mal moved a bonsai plant and opened the chest beneath it. After rummaging through the chest a few seconds, he found what he was looking for. He stood up, a whip in his hand.

"I'm gonna be nice about this, give you a choice." Mal smiled at him. "We can do this here and now, twenty stripes from me. Or we can march down to the dining room – everybody ought to be there this time of day – and let Jayne give you ten stripes."

Standish shuddered. Ten was better than twenty, but Jayne was stronger than the captain. Ten from him would probably hurt as much, if not more, than twenty from the smaller man. But the humiliation of having the whole crew witness his punishment …. "Let's get this over with."

Mal's eyebrow raised. "You tellin' me what to do?"

"No, sir," Standish denied hastily. "I had no intention of –"

"Up against the wall," Mal ordered. He hefted the whip in his hand to punctuate his command.

Standish had no choice but to obey. He winced as the whip fell on his naked back. The whip came down again, and again. The third time he screamed; he couldn't help himself.

Standish sat bolt upright in bed. It took him a few seconds to get his bearings, to realize he was in his own bunk in his own cubicle. A dream. It had only been a dream. He took a deep breath. Mal Reynolds had not beaten him, not now, not ever. Despite threats and frequent humiliation, Mal had never laid a hand on him.

Standish closed his eyes. How had he reached the point that, even in a nightmare, he had willingly chosen to submit to a flogging? Perhaps it was time to contact his former friends and see if they were in a forgiving mood.

* * *

Standish looked at the franchised postal center, a shabby storefront that doubled as a branch of the Allied Postal Service_._ He looked at the letter in his hand and debated for the twelfth or thirteenth time whether to send it or toss it in the trash. He hated crawling back to Chris Larabee and his associates for help, after the way he'd walked out on them. But enduring the next few years as Mal Reynolds' bondservant … he'd go mad.

* * *

Standish was glad the helmet hid his face. He'd hate to let Captain Reynolds or the others know how nervous he was. He didn't have much experience working in a space suit, and he was less than happy about being on a dead ship. The suit's airtank was not large; so many things could go wrong.

When the port officials on the last planet they'd visited had complained that an expected supply ship had never arrived, Mal and Wash had worked out its probable course and gone looking for the ship. As they'd hoped, they found it – dead, and all its crew with it – in an asteroid belt. Mal gleefully made plans to salvage what he could from the wreck. Standish only hoped that they wouldn't meet the same fate, smashed against the asteroids.

Suddenly a klaxon sounded.

A minute later Mal ordered everyone back to _Serenity._

"What's wrong? What's going on?" Simon sputtered over his spacesuit's communicator.

Mal's answer froze Standish's blood in his veins. "Reavers."

* * *

"Standish, take this." Mal handed him a gun and two clips of ammunition. "Find River, take her to the engine room. Your job is to guard her and Kaylee."

Standish nodded.

Mal retrieved a knife from a cabinet and gave that to Standish. "If worse comes to worst, save the last two bullets for Kaylee and River. Don't let the Reavers get 'em."

Standish's face paled as he realized what Mal was asking.

"Ain't got time to argue with you on this. You gonna be able to do this, or are you gonna chicken out and let those girls be raped and mutilated?"

Or mutilated and then raped, depending on the Reavers' mood, Standish thought. In a twisted sort of way, this assignment was a measure of Mal's confidence in him. He knew the captain regarded Kaylee as a kid sister. "I'll guard them with my life. And if it comes to that," he took a deep breath, "I'll make it quick and clean."

"Good."

* * *

"You know the drill," Mal's voice came over the intercom. "Everybody stay quiet. We'll wait 'em out. And don't start using your O-bottles until you have to." Mal paused a moment. "Kaylee, cut power."

Kaylee cut the power. The ship went dark. The engines stopped humming. The quiet background noise of the life support system – an ever-present but generally ignored humming – ceased abruptly. A moment later the red emergency lights came on, giving _Serenity_ an eldritch appearance.

"You're quite safe, fair maidens," Ezra assured them in a whisper. "The asteroid field is large; the odds of us drifting into a rock are so slim as to be practically nil. That only happens in adventure vids."

"Talking wastes oxygen," River whispered.

Ezra nodded. She was right.

"We got 'nuff air in _Serenity, _it won't turn stale for a bit. And we got our O-bottles once that happens," Kaylee gestured at the oxygen canister next to her. "Just sit still, sit quiet, and wait the Reavers out."

"Alas," Ezra sighed melodramatically, "alone with two beautiful girls in the dark, and I can not recite poetry to you."

Kaylee giggled, more from nerves than amusement.

Ezra took each girl's hand. "We shall be as quiet as mice henceforth. Worry not, my dears, I shall protect you."

River shook her head. "You're not here to protect us. I know what Mal ordered you to do." She turned to face him. "You still think loud."

Ezra removed his hand from hers, then placed one finger over her lips. When she nodded her understanding, he removed his finger and took her hand in his again. And thus they sat for five hours, not moving except to take occasional breaths from their O-bottles.

* * *

"Ain't fair." Jayne kicked the chair. "We spread hours sitting on our rumps in an asteroid belt, waiting for them damned Reavers to get bored and go away, and what do we get for it? Nothing!"

"What drunken idiot ever told you life was fair?" Mal asked.

"But all that time, breathing our own exhaling, just sitting –"

"You rather have left that asteroid belt before the Reavers decided to pack up and go?" Zoe asked.

"Hell, no! But we deserve something for our time and trouble. And that ship weren't worth the waiting!" Jayne complained.

Mal sighed. "He's right."

Zoe looked up at him, startled to hear Mal say that.

"From now on, when ships get destroyed in asteroid belts, we're gonna have to ask them to have nonperishable cargos, so the salvaging efforts are worth our while," Mal said, completely deadpan.

Jayne started to nod, then realized that Mal was pulling his leg. Cussing in Chinese, he stomped out of the cabin.


	12. Chris Larabee and Crew

**Chapter 12: Chris Larabee and Crew**

Three men strode purposefully through the saloon. They approached the table where Mal sat. One was about his age, dark-haired, with a mustache. The other two were a little older, a blond man dressed all in black except for a colorful serape and a tall man with light brown hair. All moved like men who knew how to handle themselves in a bad situation.

"You Mal Reynolds?"

"Might be. Who's asking?"

"Name's Larabee." The blond waited for a reaction or any sign of recognition. Getting none, he continued, "Buck Wilmington, Josiah Sanchez. I understand you're the man to see about Ezra Standish."

"What business do you have with my ship's cook?"

"Ship's cook?" sputtered the tall dark-haired man with the mustache. He burst out laughing. "Ezra is your ship's cook?"

"Ezra said he was in trouble." Larabee didn't look like a man who'd take kindly to a wild goose chase. He also didn't look like he entirely believed Mal.

"He'd think so, but it's more the uncomfortable sort of trouble than the deadly dangerous kind." Mal waved his hand in invitation. "Sit down."

"Care to explain that?" Larabee waved to get the waitress' attention as he sat.

"Standish and I served together in the war. Not friends, but he was in my unit. I found him at a Block, looking at five years hard labor. Couldn't very well leave him there, so I bought his papers. Can't afford to just let him go. You want to lend him the money, I'll let him buy his way out of the contract."

"We'd like to see him," Larabee said.

Mal looked the three over carefully, then nodded.

* * *

When they got back to _Serenity, _Mal took Zoe aside. "Get Standish. Tell him I want to see him, but don't tell him why. Let him think I'm angry; I want him rattled."

A few minutes later, Standish appeared. "Yes, sir?"

Buck Wilmington took one look at Standish wearing a white apron and burst out laughing. "You married, Ezra? You sure sound henpecked."

Standish looked up at his former colleagues. Relief shone in his emerald eyes. Then he glanced at his captain. Resuming a poker face, he asked, "You received my message?"

Larabee asked, "What happened, Ezra?"

"I got caught. Penal servitude, indenture contract, five years."

"Like I said, I can't afford to just let him go. You want to lend him the money so he can buy himself out, that's fine by me. You want to lend him enough money to shorten his contract, that's fine, too. Otherwise, you're welcome to visit a while, make sure he's all right, and he can work his contract out."

Chris' eyes held a wicked glint. "What about buying his contract?"

"Just what did you have in mind, Mr. Larabee?" Standish didn't quite hide the trepidation in his voice.

"Only if he agrees. I won't sell his contract out from under him without his consent," Mal said. "I know the law says it's just a piece of paper that's for sale, but it feels too much like what the Alliance did during the Unification Wars."

Chris' hazel-green eyes narrowed. He'd fought in the war on the Alliance side.

"Our company must be thirsty, Standish. Go get some refreshments," Mal ordered.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, Captain Reynolds?" Standish asked.

Mal grinned maliciously, but said nothing.

* * *

In the galley, Standish made protein-spread sandwiches with processed cheese substitute. He thought a minute about Buck's appetite, then made three more sandwiches. He grabbed five bottles of beer and five mugs. He loaded all of it on to two trays.

"Unless you grow another hand, or develop telekinesis, you're going to have trouble managing that," Book said.

Standish hadn't heard the shepherd come in behind him. He managed – barely – not to jump or show any surprise. "Guess I'll just have to make two trips. The captain has company," he added, by way of explanation.

"Let me give you a hand."

Standish nodded, and placed bottled water and another mug on the tray. As an afterthought, he removed and hung up his apron.

* * *

Josiah took one look at Book and jumped to his feet. "Your Rev- "

The shepherd shook his head as he set the tray on the table. "I'm just a shepherd. No formalities, brother."

Mal glanced from the tall stranger to the older priest. He knew the brown-skinned clergyman hadn't told the whole truth about who and what he was. Of course, in the Black, no one did. He did notice, however, that Josiah Sanchez didn't sit down until the shepherd did.

Standish set the beers on the table. He'd brought one for himself, but he didn't touch it until Mal gestured he could.

Chris Larabee noted that. There was little his observant hazel-green eyes missed. "You whole and healthy, Ezra?"

"Well enough," Standish admitted cautiously.

"You need rescuing?"

Standish refused to beg, and didn't dare say too much in front of Mal Reynolds. "I wouldn't turn it down."

"Mr. Larabee and I want to talk in private. Why don't you take your friends to the galley; no reason they can't chat while you wash dishes," Mal suggested.

"Yes, sir," Standish submitted sullenly. He beckoned Josiah and Buck with his eyes. They followed him from the room, as did Book.

"Beer or coffee?" he asked when they reached the galley. Buck and Josiah each accepted a second bottle of beer. Standish poured coffee for himself and Book. "Don't mind Captain Reynolds. He's not usually that bad. He's just pushing because he has an audience, and he knows I can't push back."

"A form of petty malice," Book admitted. "I'll pray for his soul and his redemption. On the other hand, the captain doesn't take all the rights and privileges he could claim by law as your bondholder."

Standish nodded, reluctantly admitting the truth of what Book said.

"Are you okay, Ezra?" Josiah asked.

"As well as can be expected," Standish hedged. "He doesn't beat me, and he usually doesn't overwork me. Like the shepherd said, it could be worse."

"So what do you do when you're not washing dishes?" Buck asked.

Ezra Standish thought about the chores Reynolds had set out for him: loading and unloading cargo, security when an extra gun helped to keep a client honest, con man, janitor, cook. "Whatever he says."

* * *

"Got a passel of questions. Who's Standish to you, and why do you want him?" Mal asked.

"We used to work together," Larabee allowed, rationing his words the way a thirsty man would ration water.

"You're friends?"

Larabee didn't confirm it, but he didn't deny it either. "Ezra doesn't have many friends."

"You mentioned buying his contract. What would you be wanting Standish to do?"

"What business is that of yours?"

"He's a member of my ship's crew. That makes me responsible for him." Mal sipped his beer. "Told you, won't sell his labor contract without his consent. But it ain't his decision. It's mine. Ain't sending a man I fought with during the war into Heaven knows what."

Larabee looked Mal over. He considered the matter a moment. "You know Hutchins' Moon?"

Mal nodded. "I been there."

Hutchins' Moon was one of Viracocha's eleven moons, and the only habitable one. The other moons were just airless hunks of rock, but some of them were ore-rich. Miners in pressure suits worked on four of the eleven moons, mining molybdenum, copper, iron, and other ores, and came down to Hutchins' Moon for supplies and R&R.

"Not much law there."

Mal smiled. That was why he liked it. "Pretty wild."

"The local magistrate, he hired seven of us to keep an eye on things in the town where his family lives. Ezra used to be one of the seven. We … had a disagreement, and he went off-world." The blond gunslinger hesitated, not liking to share his personal business with a stranger. "We're willing to let bygones be bygones, if he wants to come back."

"In that case, I'd expect you to lend him the money to buy himself out, not to buy his contract himself."

"Ezra ain't the sort of feller you lend money to," Larabee hedged.

"That's true enough," Mal agreed, "but I'm thinking maybe you're thinking he's safer kept on a short leash."

Larabee raised one blond eyebrow.

"Ezra Standish, he's the sort of man you trust … but not too much," Mal continued.

"We just might be able to do business," Larabee allowed.

* * *

Standish worried when Mal summoned him and the rest of the crew to the lounge. When Malcolm Reynolds smiled like that, it was a bad sign.

"Mr. Larabee and I have made a deal," Mal announced.

Standish bit his lip, wondering if things would be better or worse as Chris Larabee's bondservant instead of Malcolm Reynolds's. Mr. Larabee had been strict enough as leader of the unofficial peacekeepers of Four Corners.

"Wash, set a course for Hutchins' Moon. Gonna be our new homeport for a while," Mal said.

"Hutchins' Moon? Ain't that where we dropped off," Kaylee hesitated, unsure how trustworthy Larabee and his friends were. She changed what she was going to say, " – where we dropped off Jan[1] and her friends?"

Mal nodded. "Should be plenty of work, ferrying ore and mining equipment from Molly-Be-Damned and Red Rock to Hutchins' Moon and back. Mr. Larabee here says he's interested in hiring Standish for odd jobs now and again, provided Standish and I both agree to the jobs." He turned to the gambler. "Fees on those jobs be counted toward your debt. Should have that five year contract worked off in two-three years."

Josiah stared at his friend and leader. "You're not buying Ezra's freedom?"

"I wasn't willing to lend Ezra the money; Reynolds wasn't to sell his contract. This seemed the best compromise. Besides," Larabee added, "I think we'll all be a little happier to keep Ez … how did you put it, Captain Reynolds? Keep Ez on a short leash."

"And do I get a say in this?" Standish asked through clenched teeth.

"More than welcome to stay on as ship's cook for the next four and half years. Or you can hire out to Larabee to run his errands," Mal told him.

Simon Tam drew Mal aside and whispered, "What happened to your moving target theory?"

"Ain't much law in the Viracocha system," Mal whispered back, figuring the doctor didn't need to know Larabee was the law, at least in one town. "And we'll still be moving from one moon to another, and sometimes out of the system to other planets. Won't be parked."

Mal Reynolds looked at his ship and his crew. "_Serenity _won't never be parked permanent."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Why did Ezra Standish leave his six friends? What was he arrested for? What sort of odd jobs will Larabee try to hire Standish for, and which jobs won't Reynolds consent to? Would Nathan consult with Simon Tam on a difficult case? Is Buck's charm sufficient for him to find himself in Inara's bed, since he can't afford her fees? Or is it possible that his mother was a Registered Companion, instead of just an ordinary harlot, and that he knows Inara socially? Would JD court Kaylee or River? Was JD's mother the Tam family's upstairs maid? What is it that Josiah knows about Book's past? I haven't, by any means, shown all six months of the time Ezra Standish spent as a crewmember of _Serenity_ before his old friends came to rescue him. If you'd like to help fill in the blanks, I hereby declare the _Firefly/Mag 7_ universe **open to new stories and new writers**. If interested, please contact me for further information on Hutchins' Moon.

PS This story was started before the movie came out, and is obviously in an AU from the theatrical film _Serenity._

* * *

[1] In the story "The Slaves of Mephitis," in _Of Dreams and Schemes #20, _also posted on-line at AO3 and at .


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